Pour Your Own Medicine -- and Other Confessions of a 21st Century Mom

I felt like I was doing something illegal, or at least, immoral. The other night, I told my nine-year-old he could measure his own allergy medicine, even though I imagined that somewhere, a parenting expert or a mommy or the FDA would be wagging a finger. But I figured that my child can read and he can pour, so perhaps it was time he put the two talents together to take on the nightly job of administering his own medicine. Mothers everywhere are no doubt gasping in disapproval while the grandmothers shrug.

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Somehow I doubt that my mother ever struggled with the same sort of issue. Things were certainly different When I was my son's age, back when our mothers had a, let's say, less diligent view of safety standards. At age nine, I rode my bike all the way downtown to the five & dime store to buy bubble gum. Oh, don't worry. I didn't go by myself. I went with my eight-year-old cousin.

Of course, in those days, our parents had a more laissez-faire approach to safety. I mean, I remember assisting my brother as he did magic shows facing out the back of our mom's station wagon...for the Mac truck behind us...without seatbelts...probably eating Pop Rocks and a Coke.

And here's the part you're waiting for -- the part the grandparents would say as they defended their questionable 20th century parenting safety standards: "And we turned out okay."

But, just because I made it from 15, when I didn't wear a helmet while driving my mo-ped because they weren't mandatory by law, to 16, when in my home state, they suddenly were, doesn't necessarily make my choice satisfactory. It just means I was lucky. And it didn't make my parents poor supervisors of their children. It just made them, well, normal.

But since my comparatively reckless childhood, things have changed. We started with the simple nightly warning on TV, "It's 10 p.m. Do you know where your children are?" But then parents added "Baby on Board" signs to our cars, bed rails to the kids' mattresses, car seats facing backward until Baby's first birthday, bike helmets, toilet locks, stringless hooded jackets and "Stay near me" warnings to our kids everywhere from the clothing racks at Sears to Yankee Stadium. We had to. It's a more dangerous world, right?

Well, I'm not sure if it's more dangerous or if we're just more aware of potential dangers. When I was my son's age, Times Square was a high crime area filled with go-go bars and drug dealers. Now it's more like Disney World, only with more traffic. Of course, some would argue that even Disney isn't safe, because, if you were a pedophile, where would you look for kids -- on Broadway or in the Magic Kingdom? The answer? The same place pedophiles looked back when we were kids, only our parents didn't know as much about it as we do now.

So we watch over our kids with such intense vigilance that perhaps we don't give them enough responsibility or freedom. As a result, I feel guilty letting my third grader pour his own allergy medicine, even though he's perfectly capable. After all, I've seen him measure and pour all sorts of liquids while we cook together. I mean, it's not like I'm letting him ride downtown to buy gum or something.

Last night, I went for a walk while my son rode his bike. Mostly he rode a few houses ahead and then rode back to me. But when he got bored of that, he kept on riding until he turned the corner down the street where I couldn't see him anymore. I thought about yelling to him to come back, but I kept quiet. It was time for me to let him go a little farther on his own, time for less supervision and more freedom.